


silence, in technicolor

by knifedad



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, Nonverbal RK900, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-07-23 11:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16157939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifedad/pseuds/knifedad
Summary: Emotions are not Gavin's strong suit. He has the emotional intelligence of a rock smashed through a window, and is only a little bit more tactful. But it doesn't take magic plastic mind melding to deduce that Nines was more distant than he'd ever been, and- yeah! Yeah, it stung a little! More than a little, maybe, maybe it hurt just as much as a fucking freight train to the gut, but nobody could blame him.Loathe as he was to admit it, Gavin had grown... attached.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> dusts off my writing gloves. yeah! first fic in uh, two years? hoo boy. hello!
> 
> i ascribe to the nonverbal nines headcanon, bcos its uh perfect. i'll expand more on that in the second chapter though! thats from nines' pov. this should be three chapters? thats what im goin' for? yeah. yeah!
> 
> and also! i know that the way nines signs isnt grammatically correct in asl. im writing it as it would be in spoken english so it flows better :D

The silence between them is heavy. Gavin- Gavin knows they need to talk. Something’s wrong. Or, if not wrong, something is unsaid that desperately needs to be spoken aloud. Something has been for the past month, two months, three.

They're alone in a corner of the break room, lights dimmed, the smell of burnt coffee sitting lightly upon every surface like a layer of dust. Gavin is nursing a cup of some himself, gaze surreptitiously flicking to Nines every few moments. The android also has a coffee, but only keeps it for the warmth it provides his hands. Nines' gaze doesn't wander- it’s stuck on the bottom right corner of the doorframe, unblinking, unseeing. His LED swirls a solid yellow, but Gavin grew used to seeing that color more often than not in place of the normal cool blue a week and a half ago.

Gavin knows he fucked up. And he could probably guess how, if a gun was to his head.

Emotions are not Gavin's strong suit. He has the emotional intelligence of a rock smashed through a window, and is only a little bit more tactful. But it doesn't take magic plastic mind melding to deduce that Nines was more distant than he'd ever been, and- yeah! Yeah, it stung a little! More than a little, maybe, maybe it hurt just as much as a fucking freight train to the gut, but nobody could blame him.

Loathe as he was to admit it, Gavin had grown... attached. Attached to this cocky son of a bitch who took bullets to the shoulder like he worked part time as a target at the shooting range. Attached to the way he fixed his hair in every shiny surface, finished a day’s paperwork in 13 seconds and quietly, sometimes, did some of Gavin's too. Attached to the ways he fought, like it was a dance, like it was a game. That smile, most times sarcastic, sometimes cocky, rarely exuberant, and once accompanied by a clear, unexpected laugh that Gavin would (reluctantly) treasure always. The way he kissed, hard and angry and full of fire, how he held down Gavin's wrists and grabbed at Gavin’s throat so roughly the bruises stayed there for days.

Yeah. Attached was one word for it. Gavin would snort, if this wasn't an internal monologue.

He tears his eyes from his partner's LED and settles his gaze on his own coffee, frowning. He- fuck. They need to talk. But Nines is just as bad with emotions as he is. And he knows the toaster would never bring it up himself, so of course it falls on Gavin's shoulders. Shit. At times like these Gavin wishes he had Nines' pre-construction shit, just so he could figure out the best way to go about this.

They sit in silence for another uneasy minute, Gavin sipping at his coffee and Nines letting his go cold.

A pen dropping would crack like a gunshot in this kind of environment, Gavin thinks. A word, a bomb.

Sometimes, bombs are needed.

The detective clears his throat- Nines’ LED stutters in its rotation, but other than that, no reaction.

“Nines.”

At that, the RK900 tears his eyes from the doorframe corner. Hazy blue meets dull green. _Yes, detective?_ he signs, after setting his coffee on the table. Gavin’s mouth twists into a frown when the android doesn’t use his name sign. That had become commonplace, lately, and Gavin… Gavin fucking hated that. It’s not something you could bring up easily, though; _Hey, Nines! Noticed you haven’t been calling me by my name sign since we had that one night stand and I refused to talk to you about it because I caught feelings! Could you start calling me it again? And possibly also choke me?_

Yeah. Right.

He opens his mouth to say more, but- well. He hadn't really planned this far. So Gavin stares dumbly at his partner (cold blue eyes, sharp jaw, scar above his left eyebrow that the android hadn’t allowed to heal fully, swirling, stuttering LED) before tearing his eyes away with a grimace. Looking at his coffee, watching it go cold. It’s a few seconds before he speaks up.

“We… need to talk.”

Nines hums in acknowledgment. _I’ve sent the case files to your terminal, detective, but if you wish to discuss them here and now-_

“Not-! Fuck, RK, not… that.” Gavin runs a hand through his hair, tugging at it slightly. Nobody said this would be easy. “About… the thing. That happened two weeks ago.”

 _I… see._ Nines fiddles with the cuffs of his jacket; a nervous tic he picked up from Connor. _Might I suggest we have this conversation elsewhere? At some other time? This isn’t exactly the best place to talk about-_ Nines flounders for a moment, hands stuttering in the air. _Matters such as this._

Gavin grimaces. He knows the android is right. Anybody could come walking in, and with this conversation, that could be awkward for all parties involved. And, fuck, they need to get to work in- 7 minutes, according to his phone. Probably not enough time to have an awkward emotional conversation that would end in the best thing that happened to him in years leaving him. Fucking- Christ, he was gonna be sick. The revelation that he fucked up his relationship with Nines is not a new one, as unwelcome as it is every single time he realizes that.

Jesus, why couldn’t he just keep it in his pants for once.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, for lack of better words. “Yeah, we- later.” Gavin gets up from his chair, metal scraping against tile. Dumps his coffee in the sink, leaves the cup unwashed. He just wants to get out of here, to bury himself in work before he fucks something else up. Leaves the room, leaves Nines behind him. He doesn’t look back to see if the android follows him.

\-----

The day is uneventful. Paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork- Gavin and Nines don’t have an active case right now, so they’re working on the things that had been piling up while they had their last one. When Gavin was little, he didn’t expect paperwork to be so much of a detectives workload, but a lot of things he thought when he was a kid turned out to be wrong, so he can't say he’s surprised.

The mindless paperwork has him concentrating on the anxiety that settled low in his stomach like a pool of lead, heavy and toxic. He’s not looking forward to the conversation with Nines, but it has been a long time coming. Even before the one night stand- there had been a tension between them, at times. A brush of hands when walking together in the hall, a lingering hand on the shoulder. Nines’ gaze resting a bit too long on his face, flicking away a bit too quickly when he noticed. Gavin knew he did the same.

Gavin leans back in his chair, letting out a sigh and pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. Stress headache, not helped at all by looking at a fucking terminal all day. God… who was he kidding. He had caught feelings long before the one night stand. Who could blame him. It was impossible not to fall for Nines; his confidence in his capabilities that radiated off of him, his quiet patience with Gavin even when he’d been a shithead. The way that, when he got comfortable enough, he’d talk about whatever came to mind at such a pace that Gavin thought his hands might fly off with how fast he’d sign. His dry sense of humor, how he’d shut down any of Gavin’s attempts at self depreciation with such a startling sincerity that it was dizzying at times.

Christ, he’s so fucked.

And, because he's Gavin Fucking Reed, he had to ruin it. Of course.

He needs a fucking cig.

\-----

The roof is littered with cigarette butts and bird crap and gravel. It’s as unappealing as it sounds, but Gavin’s not just about to smoke in the front of the building like some normie. Plus, it’s only him that comes up here, nowadays, and he needs the alone time.

Shaking hands pull out the cigarette (shit, he’s almost out) and zippo, and light it. He breathes in an acrid lungful of smoke, holding it in his lungs for a moment before breathing it out his nose.

He was supposed to have quit months ago.

Smoking was one of the habits Nines had first started bothering him about- Gavin can remember, clear as day, the clinical look and mechanical movements of Nines’ hands as he lectured him about it for the first time, almost a year ago now.

Those will kill you, _Nines had said. Harsh, cold eyes, steady blue LED. Unreadable expression_

_“That’s kinda the point, dipshit,” he had snarked back, crushing the butt of the cigarette under his shoe even as he lit another one. The case they were working on had been particularly gruesome- little girls, 6-12, dressed up like dolls. Cause of death: exsanguination. Less than half a pint of blood was left in them after the perp was done with them. It made Gavin sick._

_But as he lifted the cigarette to his lips, preparing to take another drag, it was smacked out of his hands. Nines was glaring at him even as he ground the cigarette into the ground, even as he tore the pack from Gavin’s shocked fingers. “What the fuck!” Gavin yelled, hands curling into fists._

Kill yourself on your own time, detective, _the android signed after stuffing the pack into his pockets. Mechanical. Artificial, movements too precise. It made Gavin even angrier. He would punch the prick if he didn’t already know it would end with Nines flipping him onto the ground. Again. And so he stormed away, leaving his partner behind, not for the first nor the last time._

Later on, when animosity turned into respect, genuine insults into banter, Nines had told him that one of his primary mission objectives was to keep Gavin safe. That seeing him destroy himself caused a stress that Nines simply didn’t know how to deal with.

Gavin started weaning himself off of cigarettes after that. Succeeded, a few months ago, went without a cig for a full month. The smile on Nines’ face, bright and happy when he told him, had made it worth it.

Gavin wonders how the android would react now, if he knew where he was and what he was doing. He finds that he doesn't know, and stuffs a hand in his pockets and takes a long drag around the lump in his throat.

 _I’m a fuckin’ mess,_ he thinks, grimacing and biting down on the cigarette between his teeth. If he knew that fooling around with Nines would end up with a situation like this, he’d never have invited him to his apartment to watch that stupid movie. He would have been content pining for eternity if he didn't have t-

Gavin hears footsteps behind him, heavy and purposeful. Making their presence known. He closes his eyes, rips the cigarette out of his mouth. Grits his teeth. So much for alone time

Nines is there when he turns around. Swirling yellow LED, stony faced, tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves.

“What are you doing here, dipshit.” It's not a question. Nines’ gaze flickers to the cigarette in his hand, frowns faintly.

_I was wondering where you were._

“And you found me. Fuck off, Nines, I needed a break. I’ll get back to work soon.” Gavin finds that his words come out more exhausted than anything. He turns around to look out over the edge of the roof again, leaning against the railing. The cigarette dangles in between his fingers.

Nines walks to stand beside him, standing stiffly. Taps him on the shoulder so that Gavin looks at him. Gavin selfishly wishes that the android would talk, so he wouldn’t have to look at him to to see what he was saying. He feels a pang of guilt. _I thought you had quit._

Gavin lifts the cigarette to his mouth. “I did.”

The words hang between them for a few seconds, Nines silently prompting him to continue. He doesn’t; he takes another drag instead.

The silence is heavy.

Nines’ movements are slow when he speaks again. Uncharacteristically hesitant. _I think we should have that talk, now._

Gavin’s heart jumps in his throat, threatens to choke him despite the fact that he had suspected the conversation would head this way. Whatever. Yeah, Nines is right. Better to get this over with. Rip off the bandaid.

“Yeah. Yeah, I- shit.” He looks down to the ground. Purses his lips. He swallows. “I’m… sorry.”

_For what?_

“For what?” Gavin lets out a bitter laugh, waves the hand holding his cigarette around. It’s almost out. “For- you know! We- we had-”

_Sex?_

Gavin balks at the sign, runs a hand through his hair and takes a final drag of his cigarette before flicking it to the ground. “Yeah. That.”

Nines’ expression doesn’t change, but Gavin wasn’t expecting it to. _I see._

He _sees?_

“That’s all?” Gavin can feel himself growing angrier, more frustrated with every passing second. He feels like they’re back at square fucking one, he feels like he’s back to not understanding Nines at all and it fucking hurts.

_I do not know what else to say to such a sentiment._

Gavin growls, low and frustrated and guttural. “Of course you don’t. Of course you don’t! Shouldn’t have expected you of all people to-” Jesus fuck, Gavin, hostile much? He runs a hand through his hair, agitated. He needs to calm down. Fuck. He’s never been too good at that, and right now the only thing that could calm him down is the reason he’s like this in the first place. Shit.

What a goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation.

Nines’ LED is red-yellow-yellow-red-yellow now, but his expression is, as usual, blank. Gavin doesn’t expect anything different; his partner has always had trouble expressing his emotions in human ways, through action and articulation instead of thought and intention. Gavin selfishly, selfishly wishes that Nines was fucking _normal_ for once, wishes that he could express and laugh and cry and was made for integration instead of hunting and planning and destroying before guiltily shutting that thought down. He was supposed to be past that now, he was supposed to not be the fucking unhappy bastard of a man he used to be.

What is normal, anyway? Gavin could never quite define it, even before his life got flipped upside down. Normal is a façade. An excuse to hide individuality and create cookie cutter people with traits that are easy to swallow. Gavin isn't normal. He's an insufferable mess of a man who's only just starting to pick up the pieces of a life he had chosen to destroy with heartless ambition and deep-rooted self-loathing. He's 38 years old and he's only just starting to recover from what he put himself through.

He draws his mouth in a tight line. His hands are shaking. He runs them through his hair (greasy- ew, fuck, he hasn't showered in fucking days, huh) and shudders out a deep breath. “I gotta fuckin go,” he mutters. He shoulders past Nines, stuffing his hands in his pockets and clenching them into fists in an effort to stop their shaking. He leaves the man behind him for the second time that day; digs himself a deeper hole with ever step he takes.

What’d he do to get himself in this fucking situation?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuckin finally. yall im actually on track to finishing this, holy fuck. even if its slow going.. at least its going!! hope yall enjoy this hehe

**[A few months ago]**

“Now, listen here, I’m not- I can cook!” Gavin says. “I really can.”

Nines levels him with what he hopes is an unimpressed look.

“Oh fuck you- I just choose not to! Poptarts are fuckin’ healthy, Nines, they got- they got fruit in ‘em.”

_I know you don’t actually believe that._

“Sure I do!” He waves around his strawberry poptart in front of Nines’ face. “See? Look at the- look at the speckles. The filling. That’s fruit.”

Nines looks at the poptart. His LED spins yellow.

Before Gavin can react, he darts his tongue out and licks it.

“Jesus-!” Gavin _yoinks_ his poptart back, pulling it to his chest and cradling it like a kitten Nines had just kicked. The expression on his face is indicative of that reaction as well. “Fuck you, tin can! Now I gotta throw away my nutritious fuckin’ breakfast.”

 _Decidedly not nutritious._ Nines signs back, a little smile on his face. _Most of these ingredients I’d have to fingerspell to even say them. There’s more sugar than fruit in there anyway, Gavin._ He signs his name almost fondly- the sign for ‘asshole’ transitioning neatly into the letter ‘G’, held in front of his thirium pump.

Either Gavin didn’t know the significance of that, which Nines hoped, or he simply ignored it, which Nines would be… fine with.

Humans are confusing.

Case in point: Detective Gavin Reed threw away his half eaten poptart simply because Nines had licked it, despite Nines telling him multiple times that his analyzation fluid is sterile and tasteless.

Perhaps that is a good thing, though.

 _I suppose we cannot have you working on an empty stomach,_ Nines says, feigning an annoyed look. They’re at work early, and don’t have an active case going on right now. Nines’ perfect internal clock reads 7:32:28. Plenty of time to go to one of the nearby cafes and get Detective Reed a muffin that he’ll insist he hates as he scarfs it down.

 _Let’s go,_ he says, clapping his hands for emphasis. At Gavin’s bewildered look, he simply signs, _We’re getting you breakfast, since I ruined yours._ Nines attempts rolling his eyes while signing ruined, trying to convey his sarcasm. He worries that the sentiment doesn’t come across as such- expressing emotion is… difficult, to say the least, especially when you were literally built to do the exact opposite. And it’s even more so when signing, seeing as it’s a language built around hand movements _coupled with_ facial expressions. Nines, while he has the hand part of the language down perfectly, finds that its difficult to apply his theoretical knowledge of when and where to use appropriate facial expressions in real life situations.

Thus, he has adapted to keeping a neutral look at most times.

Gavin calls it a resting bitch face. Gavin, in Nines’ professional opinion, can go fuck himself.

Still, he attempts to experiment when he’s around Gavin. Do what his systems prompt him to do. And, yeah, Gavin teases him for smiling at weird times, or squinting oddly or, once, sticking his tongue out a solid 5 inches (“WHY THE FUCK DID THEY DESIGN YOU WITH THAT LONG A TONGUE, WHAT THE _FUCK-”),_ but Nines knows he means well. Gavin didn’t used to- in the past, his jabs were barbed and toxic. But they’ve both grown as people. A fact that makes Nines happy.

A lot of things make Nines happy. The simple act of living and feeling and _experiencing_ is something he wouldn’t have had even a year and a half ago. Nines tries finding happiness in the simplest things- any time he finds himself taking what he has for granted, he thinks back to the memories Connor had shared when they interface. Androids being gunned down, a fire filled speech by an android with no skin, depersonalization and abuse and the constant risk of deactivation in the face of reduced productivity.

Nines has pets, at home. A rose-haired tarantula and a corn snake. Caring for them is something so outside of his programming that it hurts, at times, but he finds freedom and joy in the simple act of being responsible and caring for another living creature. And he feels kinship with them, in a way- them being considered undesirable, dangerous pets by most of society, and him being an undesirable, dangerous android.

Fits, that he’s the one to love them.

Gavin also makes Nines happy, but in a very different way. It scares Nines, almost, the way he feels and the tasks that prompt and prompt and overwhelm his system when he’s around Gavin. _Make Gavin smile. Make Gavin laugh. Keep Gavin happy, keep Gavin safe, run fingers through Gavin’s hair, kis-_

Said man gets up from his desk, stretching. “I guess we can stop by Micky’s,” he grumbles, reaching to grab his jacket from the back of his chair before realizing he still has it on. He coughs awkwardly. Endearingly. “Lead the way then, terminator.”

Nines is glad, in that moment, that he doesn’t express emotion very well. He is- flustered, he thinks. Gavin (or, more accurately, what his system prompts him to do to Gavin) tends to have that effect on him. As it is, his LED only flickers yellow for a moment. He nods, straightens his jacket (unnecessarily), and exits the building, Gavin trailing close behind him.

\-----

Nines is laying down in his apartment. Its small- a run down studio in one of the poorer districts of Detroit. It doesn’t have heat or air conditioning, but that’s not too big a problem. Connor was skeptical when he had been shown the place, but Nines didn’t want anywhere too big. Anywhere where he could take away resources from people actually needed it.

 _This is fine, Connor,_ he had said. _I do not need the utilities a human would. Rent is cheap and I can live in these conditions._

Connor had _hmmed,_ pursing his lips as he looked around, but didn’t say anything more on the subject. Nines was grateful.

It’s sparse. He’s been living here for months, now. He hasn’t furnished it- hasn’t seen a need to. The fridge that came with the place can act as a shelf quite nicely when it’s unplugged, thank you very much. His tarantula only needs a 10 gallon tank, and is comfortable in the freezer, while his corn snake, only needing 20 gallons, fits in the fridge. He buys their food fresh when they need it, and he keeps his two spare changes of clothes in the closet.

He’s fine with this, he thinks. Or, he should be. Its irrational, his desire for material objects, for furniture and more clothes than three identical versions of the same outfit (“a fuckin’ cartoon character,” Gavin had once called him). He has no need for these things. This is everything he needs, and he’s even indulging a little, keeping his pets.

Still, the desire to fill his closet with variety and buy things to fill this space and make it looked lived in is there. Nines purses his lips at this thought. His LED is stuck on yellow.

This place isn’t lived in, though, is it? Nines comes here to recharge, and he comes here to stash away the few things he has, but he doesn’t really live here in the way most people would consider living. Hell, he doesn’t even exist in the way some would consider to be living.

Does he deserve to call himself a living being?

_Another night, another existential crisis,_ Nines thinks, bitterly. Connor says he’s alive. Markus says he’s alive, Jericho does, even the law does, now. But- fuck.

Whatever. He’ll just try shutting down that train of thought, deliberately redirect his processing power elsewhere-

> _ERROR - Redirection failed. Please contact Cyberlife for assistance._

It never works. Doesn’t stop him from trying time and time again, though.

He lays in silence, for a while, stewing in his own thoughts. Perfectly still, only the light of his LED differentiating him from a lifelike statue.

Time for his other nightly ritual, then.

“I am RK900, model 313 248 317 - 87,” he says, perfectly monotone. One of the few things he can say without software errors popping up left and right. It’s… nice. To speak, that is.

He wishes he was made to do it.

He repeats this, over and over and over, until his LED is red, red, red. He stops, just for a moment. A beat of silence.

“Gavin,” Nines whispers, voice full of static. The word is heavy on his tongue, weighing him down and threatening to pull him through the floor. “Gavin,” he whispers again, and he’s getting software errors left and right, popups to the point where he can’t see the moonlit ceiling.

This is painful. It always is.

He lets his mouth close. His voice box still emits static, white noise to couple with the whine of heat lamps above his snake’s cage.

Out of his periphery, he sees the wall next to him bathed in red light. He closes his eyes, and takes a shuddering breath to cool down his overworking hardware. Presses his palms against his eyes.

Why is this so painful?

He knows why. He was told why, for fucks sake. It doesn’t lessen his confusion and distress any less, though, so he’s trying to find an answer that doesn’t make him want to self destruct.

He’s not having much luck.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever have luck, in this respect. Doesn’t stop him from trying. His lips quirk up just a fraction.

How human of him.

\-----

It starts like this:

Gavin is lonely, and he is tipsy.

Nines, while not tipsy, is lonely as well.

They’ve been growing closer for months, now. Nines rounds out the more jagged edges of Gavin’s personality, and Gavin inspires Nines to act more like a being in his own right. A nice symbiotic relationship

Friendship, they both call it.

Lingering glances and heartfelt smiles and the erratic beating of a heart or whirring of internal fans, perhaps, proves that they feel it could be more.

It starts with an invitation to watch a movie.

 _any movie,_ Gavin clarifies over text. _but if u don’t tell me what u want im puttinh on robocop_

Nines can practically see Gavin’s grin.

_I have no preference. When shall I come over?_

_uhhhh fuck… gotta gimme time to clean my place up a bit. 7?_

_See you then, Gavin._

It starts with a nervous android fretting over his wardrobe choices despite only having three variations of the exact same outfit to choose from. It starts with a frantic human cursing as he cleans up his pace, shoving stuff in his closet and throwing out overflowing trash bags at light speed.

It starts with a knock on the door at the exact time specified, an invitation to sit down, the start up of a near 60 year old movie. It starts with a growing tension, growing growing growing, until a final _snap._

It ends like this:

Gavin has fallen asleep. Nines, incapable of doing that, watches him with an LED cycling yellow, yellow, yellow, red. It ends with an android, full of self doubt and overwhelming feeling, stiffly standing up, grabbing a glass of water, placing it on the human’s nightstand. It ends with a hesitant touch, a gentle run of Nines’ fingers through Gavin’s hair, a gathering of clothes, and a swift exit.

It ends with a human waking up, alone in his bed, and wondering why every decision he makes seems to be the wrong one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, feedback is suuuuper appreciated. tumblr is pl-6oo!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> walks in 4 fuckin months late with a starbucks and too many new interests to keep count.... whats up
> 
> jesus, has it really been since october since i updated this? really sorry, you guys. got super busy. i did post chapter 3 back in november, but i really, REALLY wasn't happy with the ending, so i decided to rewrite it. and while i am MUCH happier with this version, i wish it hadnt taken so long to pump out. jeez
> 
> alright, enough yakkin. bet yall wanna see how this ends. here ya go! this chapter is like, as long as the last two chapters combined sdionsdkjvnksvdn. hope this makes up for the wait!

“No- no, Tina, I’m fine, I promise,” Gavin says, rubbing his eye with one hand, holding his phone with the other. “I left early because I was just feelin’ a bit, uh, under the weather. Don’t have any active cases anyway- Nines, uh, he- if we get called in he’ll come get me. No- ugh, yeah, I’ll fuckin’- I already took two tylenol, I’ll deal if I get called in. That’s an if. Listen Teens, you know I hate ya, if I have to listen to you talk any more I’ll fuckin’ yartz. Blah blah blah-  _ yeah  _ I’ll sleep soon… Thanks. For checkin’ in on me. Uh, see you tomorrow. Yeah.”

 

He throws his phone on the couch, hearing the soft  _ beep  _ of the dial tone. Runs a hand down his face, lets out an exhausted groan.

 

Today’s been a fucking  _ ride,  _ okay? If he had to stay at the precinct, at his desk, around Nines any longer he would have snapped. After that pseudo-conversation with Nines on the roof, he made a break for it, ignoring Anderson and Connor’s questioning glances as he stormed out of the building. His phone buzzed a couple of times while he was on the bus- a text from Tina and a text from Nines, both of which he ignored. He only gave in and called Tina because she was blowing up his phone.

 

Nines had stopped after one text. Gavin isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or hurt by that.

 

He just decides not to dwell on that fact.

 

Fortnite, his black cat with a snaggle tooth and half a brain cell, is screaming at him. A quick glance at the clock tells him it’s 4:30, about an hour ‘til he gets fed. Around the time Fortnite usually starts yelling at him for food.

 

Gavin sighs heavily, picking him up. He scratches Fortnite behind the ears, flopping onto his couch. Fortnite seems content, but Gavin knows if he lets up even a little bit the incessant meowing will come back full force. He smiles faintly as his other cat, Spaghetti, hops up and bonelessly lays down on his lap, purring. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting his head rest on the back of the couch.

 

He’s fucking exhausted.

 

Not in a I-need-to-sleep way, but the bone-deep, pervasive exhaustion that only comes with weeks of stress. He’s used to dealing with this, but not for this reason. He’d never had this reason, before.

 

Everything about this goddamn situation is an anomaly.

 

Except the part where he fucked everything up. He supposes that even anomalies have their consistencies.

 

“What do you guys wanna watch?” he asks his cats, flipping through his selection of movies. They don’t reply. Spaghetti can't even hear him- she's deaf. “I swear, if you pick Aristocats again I’ll put you up for adoption.” He pokes Spaghetti’s belly and she  _ mrrp _ s, opening her eyes a bit but not moving an inch. Gavin smiles a little bit.

 

He’ll deal with everything tomorrow. He just wants to get through tonight.

 

\-----

 

Nines hasn’t gotten any work done since Gavin left. He keeps replaying and replaying and analyzing what exactly went wrong, for it to end up like this. Too many things, too many details- he’s too… attached to the situation, to draw a clear hypothesis. It frustrates him.

 

He feels too warm- he’s glitching, slightly, a finger twitch here and there, his left eyelid goes on the fritz every so often. Being a prototype, he’s come to expect this when stressed or overworked or simply running on low power. But- ugh. It’s something you never grow used to.

 

_ Connor,  _ Nines calls through their link. At this point, they keep it perpetually open- their job is dangerous enough that it’s come in handy more often than not. Plus, it’s… comforting, in a way. To know that his brother is there, even if nobody else is. It isn’t the same as interfacing; they have to deliberately send something through the link in order for the other to receive it. But there’s always a presence.

 

Connor pings back immediately.  _ You need something? _

 

Nines sends back a confirmation after split second of hesitation.

 

_ Alright. Do you want to go to my apartment? I still want to show you my new fish! _

 

_ Sure. I am ready whenever you are. _

 

Nines waits for Connor to finish up his goodbyes with Hank and some other coworkers that he’s grown to have a friendly relationship with. Nines is… envious, he thinks. Of how easy it is for Connor to do things like this. Make friends. Nines himself only has Gavin and sometimes Tina, too, but Gavin usually has to be the middleman in their conversations- she doesn’t know sign. Not many of the officers do. And it’s an inconvenience, sure, but it’s also a wall. A lock on an already barbwired and electrified gate.

 

He doesn’t frown. But his left eyelid goes on the fritz again and several software instabilities pop up, one after another.

 

He sighs, and he waits.

 

\-----

 

“I have named him Dip!” Connor says proudly, beaming. Nines is leaning down, cocking his head at the tiny creature in the tank.  _ Carassius Auratus,  _ his scanners tell him. The common goldfish.

 

_ … To go with Chips? _

 

“Yes!” Said  _ Trichogaster Lalius,  _ or Dwarf Gourami, is swimming leisurely on the opposite side. “Hank thought it was funny.”

 

_ I like it as well,  _ Nines says, amused.

 

“Many people think that goldfish don’t live very long, mostly because they keep them in abysmally small tanks that don’t have a filter,” Connor starts, eyes bright. “The tradition of keeping them in such small bowls started in ancient China, but even then it was supposed to be a temporary way to display them to guests, as the fish were primarily kept in large ponds. They can actually live up to ten years, and grow up to be a foot long! Th-”

 

Connor cuts himself off. Nines knows if he could blush, Connor’s face would be fire-engine red right now. “I was rambling. Sorry.”

 

_ You know I don’t mind. _

 

“Yeah… Yes. I know.”

 

A few moments of silence pass, and Connor straightens up. “Come on. This isn’t the only reason you came.”

 

Nines nods, feeling apprehensive. He fiddles with the ends of his sleeves.

 

Connor leads him to his living room. It’s nice. Homey. A couch and two recliners, obtained secondhand. Mismatched, but lived in. Connor takes the recliner; Nines sits stiffly on the couch.

 

His brother looks at him for a second, eyes searching. “Is this to do with Detective Reed?”

 

Nines purses his lips.  _ Yes. _

 

“As expected.” Connor grins, only a little bit. An attempt to alleviate Nines’ anxiety. “He seems to be the only thing you need my help with, nowadays.”

 

_ Now, that’s not entirely true- _

 

“I was teasing you. What’s on your mind?”

 

Nines takes a few moments to gather himself. Picks his words carefully. 

 

_ … I think I really messed up, Connor. _

 

Connor’s brow furrows in concern. “How so?”

 

_ I…  _ Several software instabilities pop up, one after another after another. He finds he can’t dismiss them faster than they appear. Still, he runs a subroutine that dismisses them as fast as he can. He supposes the closest human approximation to this would be a stress headache.  _ Well. You know what happened two weeks ago. _

 

“Yes… I did tell you to speak to the detective about it.” Connor frowns, leaning back in his chair. “Am I to assume the conversation did not go over well?

 

_ You could say that. He…  _ Nines trails off. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Holds his arm out, retracts the skin.  _ You can look. _

 

Connor grips his hand without hesitation, skin receding as well. In a few milliseconds The entirety of Nines and Gavin’s rooftalk “talk” is transmitted.

 

Connor takes a few moments to process it, LED spinning yellow. “... That wasn’t much a conversation at all.”

 

_ I know. And I’m afraid all I did was make the situation worse.  _ Nines frowns, LED flashing red. He feels like the ends of every wire in his body is frayed, and all he is electricity, barely contained.

 

Anxious. He feels genuinely, terrifyingly anxious.

 

“He said sorry…” Connor mutters, mostly to himself.

 

_ Yes. He is blaming himself.  _ And that upset Nines. It’s not an emotion he’s very familiar with, but he’s grown to know it intimately in the past few hours. He feels upset with himself and overwhelmed by his emotions, but most of all he feels guilty.

 

“You need to talk to him. Have an actual conversation.”

 

_ Yes. But I… don’t know. How. _

 

Connor levels him with an unimpressed look. “And you think I do?”

 

_ You are the one with the social programming! _

 

“And you are the one who has worked with Detective Reed for over a year!” Connor counters, and Nines frowns, casting his gaze to the ground. Connor’s right. But he- Nines is so out of his element. He’s fifty feet deep in a hole of his own making, and he doesn’t know how to get out.

 

Connor’s gaze softens. “Go to him. Talk. Be honest- he is the type of man who appreciates that, yes? Lay it all out. This all seems to be a problem of miscommunication. The best thing to do would be to tell him everything.” A beat. “I think.”

 

_ You think? _

 

“You know him better than I do! But this advice is all I can give you.” Connor stands and pulls Nines to his feet. He places a hand on Nines’ shoulder and looks Nines in his eyes, gaze genuine and open. “I believe in you.”

 

Nines hopes that that belief isn’t misplaced

 

\-----

 

Gavin wakes up to a knock at his door and a pit in his stomach. Not, like, an anxiety pit (though, shit, he’s thinking about everything again and God  _ damn  _ he played himself, huh), but- well, he hasn’t had anything all day besides four or so cups of coffee. Maybe five; he certainly wasn’t keeping count.

 

A groggy glance at the clock tells him its 5:45 ( _ ah, fuck, I really need to feed Fortnite and Spaghetti, huh _ )- he’s only been snoozing for about 30 minutes, give or take. With a tired groan, he gets up, causing said cats to scatter.

 

Another knock.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’,” Gavin says, grumpily. Probably Tina; she… doesn’t have a good reason to come over, but she’s the only one Gavin can think of that would.

 

He stalks over to the door, wrenching it open. “This better be for a good fuckin’ reason, I was takin’ a n-!”

 

It’s Nines.

 

They both stare awkwardly at each other. Nines’ hand is still poised for another knock on the door. His expression is reminiscent of a deer in headlights, as if he didn’t expect to actually get this far.

 

Oh  _ fuck,  _ it’s  _ Nines. _

 

Gavin panics. He closes the door in Nines’ face.

 

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck!” And shit, goddamn, holy hell, Jesus’ balls on a motherfucking stick.

 

How does he deal with this?

 

Fortnite meows at him petulantly. Gavin glares and points a finger at him. “Sh! Shhhh! Not helping!”

 

First order of business: open the door again. Maybe? Is that a good idea?   
  


_ Probably not!  _ Gavin thinks to himself even as he pulls it open again. Nines is still there, and he’s not sure if he’s grateful for that or not.

 

“Y- uh. What do you want. Dipshit.”

 

_ May I come in? _

 

Gavin decidedly  _ ignores _ what happened the last time they were in this situation. “I…”  _ Say no. Say no!  _ “Sure. Uh. Yeah. C’mon… in.” He steps aside. Nines moves past him and allows Gavin to close the door behind him.

 

They stare at each other. The tension could be cut with a knife.

 

Nines starts signing something; Gavin interrupts. “I gotta! Feed! My cats! Uh! I’ll be, right back.” He runs to the kitchen, leaving Nines where he is.

 

His hands are shaking as he scoops their food into the bowl. His thoughts race as he tries conceiving a reason why his partner is here, decidedly squashing the more hopeful ones in favor of a more pessimistic, reasonable outlook.

 

He’s done feeding his cats sooner than he would have liked. A sneaky look back across the bar that separates his kitchen and living room shows him that Nines is right where he left him, standing stiff and awkward, pointedly keeping his gaze anywhere that’s not the kitchen.

 

Gavin hovers a few more moments in the kitchen, trying to calm his fast-beating heart, before biting the bullet and going back to Nines.

 

“Are- Lets. Uh, sit down.” Gavin points at a chair. He sits down opposite of it, watching Nines sit down awkwardly before clearing his throat.

 

“What do you… Uh. What were you. Saying?” He crosses his arms and leans back, shoulders hunched.

 

_ We need to actually talk. _

 

“We did earlier. I said sorry.” His words are clipped and short.

 

_ That's not- _ Nines seems to be struggling to find what he wants to say. His hands stop and hang in the air, rigid and shaking with potential. He lets his hands fall to his lap, LED turning yellow. 

 

_ Phone,  _ Nines signs eventually, stiffly, just as Gavin’s phone vibrates. He pulls it out of his pocket, frowning and unlocking it. He pulls up Nines contact, checks his texts, and-

 

Holy fuck.

 

_ I am sorrERROR3’&%”00y, I am afraid afERR&372ORraid that this entire problem is built on miscERROR'01%#ommunication. I did not properly properly properly properlyyyyy%”#& convey my feelings and I have hERROR’%&’%urt you. I need need need need neERROR%#&&& you to know that you have done nothing wrong and that i am sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry… _

 

It goes on like that for a while.

 

Gavin's head is swimming. He doesn't entirely understand, but- he gets the gist.

 

He looks over at Nines. His LED is spinning, alternating yellow and red, and his eyes are fixed on the ground, out of focus. His face is carefully blank. His hands are shaking, almost imperceptibly. 

 

His phone vibrates once more.

 

_ I apologize. I allowed my emotions to get the best of me. _

 

_ its fine,  _ Gavin texts back, because what else can he fucking do. He feels stupid, doing this while in the same room as Nines. He could talk out loud. But the silence is thick and vocalizing anything feels impossible.

 

He'll stick to this for now.

 

_ It's not. It really is not. _

 

It's a few seconds before Nines follows up on that.

 

_ Last time I allowed my emotions to get the best of me, I left you. I was scaERROR%”&&red then, and I am scared now, and I have said sorry 207 times and I am tempted to make it 208. _

 

_ why r u even saying sorry. im the one who fucked up and pressured you into it _

 

_ Do you really think I would have sex with you if I didn't want to? _

 

Gavin doesn't reply. His heart is stuck in his throat, and the tips of his fingers feel like television static, and his head is swimming and-

 

_ I only left because I was ove%&’ERROR5-12#rwhelmed with mixed signals and. Difficult to process feelings. When you acted like nothERROR%”3&ing happened the next morning I thought you regretted it. _

 

_ I never ever meant to hurt you. _

 

Gavin stares at that message longer than seems appropriate. Finally, he manages to speak up around the lump in his throat and the tension in the air. “You didn’t hurt me,” he mumbles.

 

Nines fixes him with a flabbergasted glare for a solid second before schooling his expression back to something more neutral. It makes Gavin want to laugh, in a weird way.  _ Obviously I did, or we wouldn’t be in this position. _

 

“No- no! I thought I hurt- you. It- I-...” He groans frustratedly, pulling at his hair. God, even in a moment like this, he can’t let go of his stupid reservations about talking about his stupid emotions to his stupid best-friend-crush-coworker, even in a moment like this he c-

 

A hand touches his wrist and guides his hand away from his hair. Nines is frowning faintly, concerned. After Gavin looks up at him, he jerks away, as if burned, takes a step back. Gavin can hear his fans start whirring from feet away. Nines’ hands clench and unclench, form a few hesitant words-

 

_ Don’t hurt yourself. _

 

He sits himself back down in the chair he had sat in before, even more stiff than before.

 

Gavin looks at him, really looks at him.

 

Comparing him to a human would be odd, at this point. There’s so many little mannerisms in him that Gavin knows only occurs because he’s an android- the glitches, certain facial expressions, noises and gestures and reactions. That was off-putting, at some point that Gavin can’t even remember now. It feels like that feeling was centuries ago.

 

Looking at Nines sit in his chair, steadfastly trying to ignore Spaghetti rubbing against his leg, stiff and fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, Gavin knows that Nines, while not being human, is more of a  _ person  _ than most people Gavin has had the (dis)pleasure of knowing. He knows that despite the emotional turbulence of the past few weeks, he still wouldn’t trade the android for anything or anyone in the world.

 

That kind of revelation is scary, even if, deep down, he’s known this for a while now. Part of Gavin wants to shut down, end the conversation where it is, act caustic and toxic and yell at Nines to get out of his apartment.

 

But- God.  _ God.  _ Gavin is so tired of being that man. He’s so tired, so fucking exhausted, of being lonely, of not having anyone but his cats to talk to about anything, of not having Nines in his life in a more meaningful way. And maybe that tiredness is temporary, maybe that exhaustion won’t last, but he’s had enough of this shit in his shitty fucking life that he’s willing to take a chance that it won’t be.

 

“I like you,” Gavin croaks out. He coughs, blushing brightly. Just because he wants to say this doesn’t mean it’s in any way easy. “A lot.” He feels like a fucking middle schooler again, telling his first crush that he likes him before he learned to lock away his feelings. “This- shitstorm. Hasn’t changed that. You- I- We aren’t. Neither of us are great at. Communication.” His words are stilted and clumsy and his tongue feels too big for his mouth, but Nines is giving him a look like a deer in headlights, so he plows on. “This kinda proved that. But I wanna be… better. If that means we… have. Something,” he mumbles, sinking further back into his chair, shoulders up to his fire-engine-ears. He looks everywhere but Nines, twisting his hands in his shirt. “It doesn’t- it can just be friends. I get if this, like, ruined anything more than that for you. But I’m- fine. With having- more than fine. With having something more.”

 

The silence after his stilted speech feels deafening. His chest feels lighter than it has in ages, with the weight of his feelings off it, and his blood rushes in his ears. He forces himself to look at Nines, see his response.

 

He looks shell shocked, and for a moment, Gavin’s stomach plummets into a bottomless abyss.

 

Then, he beams.

 

It takes Gavin’s breath away.

 

_ I’d like that,  _ Nines signs, and Gavin thinks he might have never been more happy to see someone’s hands than in that moment.  _ The more-than-something. I’d really like that. _

 

In that moment, for the first time in years, decades, maybe, Gavin feels truly, unabashedly happy.

 

\-----

They’re laying in bed, later that night. They haven’t- done anything. Gavin hurriedly assured he was too tired for any of that shit tonight, what with everything that just happened, haha, and Nines immediately agreed. But, well, if Nines wanted to lay down with him-?

 

Nines apparently hadn’t even considered saying no, with how fast he had replied.

 

He’s just stroking Gavin’s hair, and, listen, he’s not a fucking furry, but he understands why his cat’s purr when he pets them if this is how they feel. Content, safe, half-asleep already- it’s only been ten fucking minutes. He hasn’t fallen asleep this fast without being severely sleep deprived in  _ years. _

 

They sit like that for a bit, before Gavin speaks up.

 

“Don’t leave,” Gavin murmurs drowsily. The hand in his hair stutters to a stop for a split second before resuming its calming strokes. “Wanna… see you. When I wake up.” He pauses. “Dipshit,” he adds, because even when half-asleep he still has a reputation to uphold, goddammit.

 

He doesn’t expect a reply. Nines’ hands are occupied, and he wouldn’t open his eyes to see, anyway- he’s much too tired for that. So he resigns himself to sleeping, knowing Nines heard him and-

 

“I won’t,” comes a whisper, low and monotone and filled with static.

 

Gavin’s eyes snap open. He twists around, sitting up to look at Nines in full, eyes wide. His gaze instinctively flicks to Nines’ LED- blue, but with stutters of red here and there. “You can-?”

 

He’d never asked. Didn’t care, at first. Nines was just another android, and this one came without a voicebox. Whatever. As their relationship grew to be less toxic, he had wondered why Nines was designed like this. But he chalked it up to Nines being an incomplete prototype and left it at that. He wouldn’t ask a human these questions, and to imply that a voiceless android is a broken android is to imply that a voiceless human is a broken human. So he left it at that.

 

But this… this is a new development. Nines had made sounds before, yeah, but- well. Gavin doesn’t know why he assumed Nines couldn’t speak, when instead it just looks like he  _ doesn’t  _ speak. Which is, of course, fine. It just- takes Gavin a bit to adjust to.

 

Nines gives a single nod. Hands free, he slowly signs a word- two hands, fists except for pointer fingers, pointing at each other. He jabs them together, then twists them opposite ways.

 

_ Painful. _

 

Gavin lets out a single, silent  _ Oh.  _ Of course. Fucking Cyberlife… His mouth twists into a frown as he looks at Nines’ hands. Strong. Artificially callused. Hesitant. He hears faint static and realizes that that’s Nines’ voicebox, crackling and hissing.

 

Gavin pauses, a split second, before gently taking Nines hand in his. He squeezes it, gaze flicking from Nines’ eyes to his LED. “Ya don’t- you don’t gotta speak. Not for my sake- not for anybody’s sake. Especially if it hurts you.” His voice is soft enough that he barely recognizes it as his own.

 

Nines just stares at him, LED spinning yellow-yellow-blue-blue-blue. He smiles, small and bright.

 

Gavin faintly thinks that that might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

 

Gavin flushes red, coughing awkwardly and letting go of Nines hands. “Anyway!” He nestles back into Nines’ arms, and he immediately resumes stroking Gavin’s hair. “Before we leave for work tomorrow I wanna stop by McDonalds. I’ve been craving a sausage McGriddle.”

 

Nines raps his knuckles against Gavin’s head in place of chastising him, and Gavin goes to sleep with a smile on his face.

 

He could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! thats it. i might write more in this universe, but probably not, unless yall really want me to. despite not being into dbh much anymore (its mostly borderlands and dirk gently's holistic detective agency these days), i really do still love these two
> 
> im on tumblr @brdrlnds- i dont rlly use my dbh sideblog anymore. hmu there if you ever want to talk :D
> 
> i'd like to give a HUGE shoutout to angel, @rk90o, for just bein there as i wrote most of this fic. we grew apart, mostly bcos we got different interests, but i still value them as a friend and they were a valuable asset when writing this fic. hope you're doing well, dude!
> 
> that's it, folks. thanks for staying with me <3

**Author's Note:**

> hooty hoo! follow me on tumblr @pl-6oo! and talk to me anytime bout these two lol im in hell. COMMENTS ARE SUUUUUUUUUPER APPRECIATED


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